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Tag: foley catheter

About four hours driving today for a 15 minute hospital appointment but neither I nor the surgeons who did the urethroplasty really trust my local urology department.

The surgeon seemed very happy with the appearance of the wound. I agree, they did some really neat suturing. There’s one suture at the foreskin end that’s sticking out a bit and he said I could remove that myself.

He pulled out the catheter without any trouble and it wasn’t really any more uncomfortable than usual. I had an early lunch and had a pee before getting back in the car, my first normal pee since October 2015! The flow seemed good and strong and it wasn’t too painful.

Later in the day it was getting a bit more painful and there was a hint of blood but I’m guessing that’s just irritation of the wound on the inside.

The only instructions I got were no sex or cycling for another two weeks and to generally avoid strenuous exercise that might affect that area. Once I get to four weeks after surgery I can apparently do whatever I want.

I’ll have an appointment at my local hospital in about a month for a urine flow measurement. The surgeon was very emphatic that they shouldn’t do anything else and I should contact him with any questions rather than the local urology department.

We walked into town for lunch today and the only problem I had was the usual discomfort from the urethral catheter.

I’d had a shower earlier in the morning and my husband changed the dressing for me afterwards. That meant that I got to see how the wound looks and get some pictures.

It’s looking surprisingly good, considering what my penis has been through over the last few years. Not very much bruising and really neat suturing, you can hardly see the stitches. At the foreskin end you can see that the wound veers off to one side; I think that’s where the surgeon took a little bit of skin to repair the fibrotic area from the temporary urethral opening that was there.

It took me a long time to get to sleep, I think I eventually dozed off around midnight. Then I was woken up by pain from an erection around 2 am. I’d managed to get the nurse to leave one dose of oxycodone by my bed so I could take it immediately and it lasted for the rest of the night.

As usual I got woken up at 6 am to have my temperature taken and then didn’t get breakfast until after 8 am. At rounds they told me that I’d be getting discharged later today. I had to contact my husband so that he could arrange coming to collect me.

The rest of the day was mostly spent hanging around the dayroom. They have surprisingly hard and uncomfortable chairs for a ward where patients often have tender nether regions.

I finally got to meet the surgeon after lunch. He seemed happy with how the surgery had gone. I’m to go back in a couple of weeks to have the catheter removed.

The two-hour drive home was uneventful but almost as soon as I got in the door I had a really strong bladder spasm. Then a little bit later I had one that was so strong it managed to squeeze some urine out around the catheter. I’m hoping the effect of the tolterodine is still building up. I’m avoiding caffeine for a bit anyway, since that can apparently make bladder spasms worse.

I took the train through yesterday for my admission appointment at the hospital. They’d told me I’d be admitted to the ward but it turns out there wasn’t a bed available so they booked me into a hotel in town. That worked out well since I’m sure I slept much better than I would have in the hospital.

At 06:45 this morning the taxi picked me up and it was the now-familiar routine of preparation then being wheeled down to the operating theatre.

This time I didn’t get left in recovery as long, so I was at the ward in time for lunch. I’d made a point of asking the recovery staff to ask them to keep some for me. For some reason I never feel ill after general anaesthetic but I’m usually ravenous after the fast.

I wasn’t in so much pain this time, I just have to call the nurse to ask for more pain relief when I start to be able to feel the stabbing pains through the ache in my scrotum. I think the stabbing pain might be as things shift about down there, it’s one of those body parts that’s seldom still for long.

Lunch was a stew made with doner kebab meat, not something I’d ever had before, it was OK. The crêpes with fresh fruit during the afternoon were actually quite nice though. Dinner was allegedly moussaka but I couldn’t find any aubergine and very little meat.

No sign of a doctor all day. I’d been hoping to ask why I only had a urethral catheter, when I was expecting to have a supra-pubic as well. I’ll have to wait and ask in the morning.

One problem with not seeing a doctor was that I couldn’t discuss pain relief and when I asked one of the nurses she insisted it was too late to make any changes to what had been ordered for me. Of course that meant that they hadn’t given me any slow-release painkillers, apparently being awoken unnecessarily by intense pain during the night isn’t something they care about. I did manage to get Tolterodine to deal with the bladder spasms without the usual arguments though.

My husband drove through after work to keep me company for a while and help me argue with the nurse. Getting adequate long-lasting pain relief for the nights is another point I’ll have to bring up during rounds tomorrow.

So now I’m settling down for the night, hoping my room mate won’t be too noisy.

After a very disturbed night due to erections I got up and pooped again. This time it was preceded by really bad bladder spasms and a few centilitres of urine squeezed past the catheter.

Took the bus up to the hospital in time for morning rounds. A more senior urologist was doing rounds and he’d been informed about the trouble with the suprapubic catheter. I had to wait for someone to put in a new one, which would be done on the ward with local anaesthetic.

The treatment room in the urology ward seems to mostly be used as a storeroom, with nurses coming and going all the time to collect supplies and pick up labels from the printer. An operating light had a sign saying that it was faulty and had been reported in March.

A young doctor and a male nurse were going to be replacing the suprapubic catheter. After a bit of a clean the nurse started squirting saline into my bladder, stopping when it got uncomfortable. At the same time the doctor was injecting the local anaesthetic, with a fearsomely long needle. The first batch wasn’t quite enough and I was glad that he believed me when I told him I usually need more.

Once the anaesthetic had taken effect the doctor took the huge thick needle (it looked like a skewer) and started poking it through my belly, causing all sorts of odd sensations. That didn’t work, so he pulled it out and tried again. The second attempt failed, liquid would come out of the needle but when he inserted the catheter nothing came out through it.

The third attempt was also unsuccessful so the doctor scuttled off to consult a more senior colleague. It seems the advice was for more water, to make my bladder easier to find. The fourth and fifth attempts were incredibly uncomfortable as I felt like I desperately needed to pee. I ended up panting and feeling panicky. As they still hadn’t succeeded they let the saline out while the doctor went to fetch his colleague.

The senior doctor seemed to be in a charming mood and he fairly quickly and efficiently got the catheter in and then spent a while stitching it firmly to my belly.

I got dressed and went along to the day room for lunch, feeling a bit shaky. Then I had to hang around all afternoon waiting to be discharged. A nurse came to remove the urethral catheter and left me a supply of night bags but no drugs nor any discharge information.

Eventually another nurse gave me my drugs to take home. My husband insisted that I needed to see a doctor before I left and finally the young one who’d had all the trouble with the suprapubic catheter turned up and discharged me.

I got up at 05:30 for the 300 ml of pineapple juice that was all I was allowed to drink before the operation.

On arrival at the urology ward there was a bit of a wait because “my” bed was still occupied. The hospital is suffering from terrible bed shortages, so that wasn’t a huge surprise. I ended up in a room that had been “closed” and was partly used as an office for the final checks and to change into the stylish surgery clothes.

A very friendly nurse and two student nurses wheeled me down to the surgery department, where there was more waiting in the pre-operative room. I had my last pee for a few weeks and then one of the students nervously put a cannula in (and did a good job). Lying there in the almost empty room I felt surprisingly relaxed, although a bit shaky, which could have been due to the lack of food.

The anaesthetist was being held up by another patient, so the anaesthetist nurse wheeled me through to theatre and they got to work preparing me while they found another anaesthetist. The pre-med made me pleasantly woozy and I vaguely remember chatting with the staff then I was out like a light as soon as the anaesthetic went it.

Waking up was much less peaceful. I don’t remember much, apart from being convinced that my husband was there (which he wasn’t). The nurse told me I had been quite confused and difficult.

I stayed in post-op for quite a long time, at first quite disorientated but then just bored. I got to talk to my husband on the phone. They had me lying on my right side (they’d taken the graft from my left cheek) but the bed was too short so my legs got really stiff and painful and nobody seemed to pay attention when I complained about it. I wasn’t feeling any other pain though, they’d given me fentanyl.

A surgeon passed by and told me that the surgery had gone well but that the anaesthetists had had some trouble. They couldn’t get the breathing tube in through my nose, after attempting with both nostrils until they were bloody, so they gave up and put one in my mouth instead. A nurse appeared with hot towels and helped me get rid of some of the dried blood on my face.

A bit later my husband sneaked in, still in his scrubs from work. That seemed to remind them to get rid of me. They’d thought I was still tired from the anaesthetic but I think it was mostly just that I was napping because there was nothing else to do.

I had a quick look under the covers and things didn’t look too horrific. There was blood soaking through the dressing on my penis, which was taped pointing up towards my belly button, and a bit around the site of the suprapubic catheter. As expected there was also a catheter coming out of my penis. I was starting to get a bit of pain from the suprapubic catheter wound now, it felt a bit like muscle soreness from too much exercise. Click here for photos.

Once I’d been wheeled up to the urology ward I got a bed beside the window in a four-bed room. My clothes and valuables appeared along with some water and my husband came back just as dinner was being served.

Dinner was pancakes and pea soup. I let the soup go lukewarm and managed it OK but left the giant lump of cauliflower sitting in the bottom of the bowl. My cheek was a bit tender where they’d taken the graft but much less painful than I expected after reading other people’s experiences. Some aching in my groin too, my scrotum was looking pretty bruised and swollen.

I got some antibiotics, the nurse stabbed me in the leg with some blood-thinning drugs and I got a horrible nightgown to change into. I was even brought a little dish so that I could clean (half of) my teeth. At this point I realised that maybe bringing the toothbrush with the tongue scraper on the back hadn’t been such a good idea.

It was obviously time for bed so I settled down and tried to get some sleep, without much success. A little old lady arrived quite late in the night and was very noisy. Eventually she started continuously wailing and crying for help, as well as talking to someone who wasn’t there. When I called the nurse for her she said she was fine. After a couple of repetitions of this I called the nurse again and told her that I couldn’t sleep with all the noise, even with earplugs, and the little old lady was moved to another room.

I had trouble sleeping for more than short bursts because I could only lie on my back. My left side was out because of my cheek and if I lay on my right side my swollen scrotum was painful.

So a week after the surgery I had the usual problems that guys seem to have with catheters but that nobody bothers to tell you about.

Being woken up during the night when erections meant that my penis simultaneously tried to pull out the catheter and scraped it over the inside of my urethra was a new experience, and one I could have happily done without. After a couple of days I learned to tape the catheter into a position that minimised the unpleasantness.

I think that night-time erections were a particular problem for me because my penis changes a lot in size between flaccid and erect. So an erection meant pulling an extra 10 cm or so of catheter over my wounded urethra. It was also a latex catheter and they seem to be stickier than the other types.

During the week with the catheter I worked from home and tried to avoid walking around too much. I never did find a position for the tubing that didn’t become uncomfortable while walking.

Having the catheter removed was very easy, although slightly delayed by a massive failure of the county’s healthcare IT system that morning. The nurse deflated the balloon and pulled it out smoothly, all I felt was a slightly odd sensation and it was done.

I went straight back to work afterwards and discovered that the catheter had left my prostate a bit tender, so I needed to use a soft cushion on my office chair.

A few days later I started feeling like I had flu or something. Several colds and flus were going around the office at the time but my husband insisted I go to the emergency room and it turned out I had a fairly severe urinary tract infection. By the time I was admitted to the urology ward, around midnight, I was sweating profusely and feeling pretty grim.

They kept me in the hospital for three days while the antibiotics started to take effect. When I was discharged I had a meeting with the doctor who’d done the urethrotomy. I was a bit concerned that I hadn’t had any night-time erections for a few days (which was probably just due to being really ill) but he just casually said that it could be a complication of the surgery and made a weird comment about the next step being anastomosis and that that would likely cause shortening of the penis. It was an odd thing to say both because anastomosis isn’t at all a suitable surgery for strictures in the penile urethra and because it had nothing to do with the question I’d asked.

After a week of recovery I could concentrate for long enough to go back to work, although the infection had settled in my prostate and needed another couple of weeks of antibiotics to be completely rid of it.

Summer holidays are a big thing here in Sweden. Most people take four weeks off in a block and that includes hospital staff. I had no chance of getting my urethrotomy done before the summer holiday period started and we’d already booked holidays for most of August.

So when I got back from vacation at the end of August there was a letter with an appointment for outpatient surgery in just over a week. Somewhat inconveniently it was going to be at a small hospital (that seems to exist largely for political reasons) about 60 km away, instead of the county’s main hospital that’s a 10 minute bus ride away.

I’d still had almost no information about the procedure, apart from some very generic instructions about not eating or drinking and washing with special disinfectant sponges before the operation.

On the day my husband drove me to the hospital and we sat and waited. I had a quick chat with the surgeon, a nurse and the anaesthetist and got changed into the lovely stockings and nightgown. Then I waited some more.

Eventually I was called into the operating theatre, got myself settled on the table, hooked up to various machines and drips and was discussing the Scottish independence referendum with the surgeon when the anaesthetic took effect.

I woke up in the recovery ward, feeling pretty OK but still a bit confused. My husband was allowed in and the surgeon came in to tell me that the operation had been a success. He said he’d had to cut away 5 cm of stricture, although it later turned out that he hadn’t bothered to record this anywhere.

Once I’d had a sandwich and some (horrible) coffee I was judged fit to go home. They’d put in a foley catheter during the surgery but I didn’t really get much in the way of instructions of supplies for looking after it. I was told to make an appointment with the nurse at my GP to have the catheter removed after a week.